


The Sheltered

by bad_peppermint



Series: Children of the Wave [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen, Notfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_peppermint/pseuds/bad_peppermint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff might be okay with a Wave kid following him around. Not everybody is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sheltered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marlowe78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/gifts).



> So I'm not actually in SPN or SPN RPF anymore - but then [marlowe78](http://marlowe78.livejournal.com/) reminded me of my planned continuation of _Children of the Wave_ , and then I realized I had a good third of the sequel already written, and then I couldn't just leave it like that.
> 
> The Notfic tag is because this is an unbeta'd rough draft that I won't actually give a finishing touch. It's still a complete story in and of itself.

People disapproved of Jeff’s strange new project, that much was obvious.

Nobody said anything out loud, oh no. They couldn’t. Most of them had been stragglers themselves, outcasts and street rats just like JT before Jensen’s mother had taken them in. But JT was different. They couldn’t bond with him over their shared misery the way they had with each other. He was a Wave kid, a strange little creep who always stared and never spoke, someone who was too detached from this world to pull his own weight.

Not that everyone else at the shelter was sane and healthy. Most of them were weird in some way. Sandra woke everyone up at least once a month with her screaming fits because she dreamed the neighborhood patrols had gotten her again. The left side of Paolo’s face was still paralyzed after that beating, making his every expression lopsided and goofy. But JT was a Wave kid, and people didn’t like that. He was bad mojo. It was barely even half an hour after Jeff had dragged the boy in that Gerome stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs, muttering about rats and not having enough food to fatten up parasites. He was probably on his way to his not-so-secret stash of liquor. Freaking jerk.

The minutes dripped by, slow like honey. When Lauren finally came to take over door duty, Jensen stashed _The Count of Monte Cristo_ under his pillow and went to find Jeff. He’d barely been able to concentrate on Dantès’ revenge ever since the man had come back, dragging the kid behind him. It wasn’t the first time Jeff had brought home something odd and fascinating, but this was certainly the first time that something was alive.

Except for that bunny one Christmas, the one Miller had thought was for eating and cooked, so now Jeff stuck to bringing home flowers and pretty shells and that kind of stuff. Jensen wasn’t a girl or anything, but he thought the things Jeff brought back were kind of magical. They weren’t just pebbles and broken bits of glass when you looked at them through Jeff’s eyes. They were special.

* * *

He found Jeff in the bathroom. The taps didn’t work anymore, but you could still get water from the tanks, heat it if you were indulging yourself, and fill it into the tub. Jeff hadn’t done that, but he had a pail of mildly steaming water on the floor by his feet. He sat on the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled up, armed with scissors and a comb. The boy was next to him, stripped down to just his jeans. Underneath the bruises and scabs, Jensen could see his ribs. He looked like someone had given him a hasty sponge bath and washed his hair. His pants legs were rolled up and his socked feet in another bowl with water, but he didn’t seem to notice it, just like he didn’t react when Jeff parted a few strands of hair and looked at his scalp.

“Hey,” Jensen said from the doorway, because he’d learned early on that startling Jeff was a bad idea. “What are you doing?”

“Lice hunting,” Jeff said. “Looks like it’s the season for it.”

“Okay,” Jensen said. He smiled uncertainly, then quickly let it fade again. He turned the doorknob uselessly.

“You wanna come in?” Jeff asked him. “Meet JT?”

Jensen edged into the room and closed the door behind him. “Are you washing his socks?” he asked.

Jeff shook his head. “Just trying to get them off his feet,” he said. “Dried blood,” he explained when Jensen just stared at him. “They’re ruined anyway. Might as well make it easier for the kid.”

Jensen watched while Jeff methodically searched the boy’s head, even behind the ears, and kept up a running commentary that Jensen suspected was aimed more at JT than at him. The boy was certainly a lot more compliant than Jensen had seen from the few Children of the Wave he’d encountered, letting Jeff touch him and move him and wash the grime off his skin with a cloth. He didn’t even start whispering until Jeff began disinfecting the cuts on his body. Jensen looked at Jeff but the man just shrugged.

“I’m gonna take his socks off now,” he said. “You wanna hold him? He’d probably not gonna like it much.”

Jensen shrugged but didn’t say no, so Jeff turned JT around so his skinny back was to Jensen’s front.

“Just take his shoulders, firmly,” Jeff said. “He doesn’t like it when your grip’s too limp.”

Jensen obeyed tentatively, but JT didn’t pull away, so he figured he was doing okay.

Jeff easily, smoothly dropped to his knees in front of JT. He took one of the boy’s ankles in his hand, easily closing his fingers around the skinny limb, and lifted it out of the water.

JT twitched in Jensen’s hands and Jensen held on a little more tightly. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. And it might have just been his imagination, but it seemed like JT relaxed a bit, let himself lean into Jensen’s hold on him. He still started to whisper again, words so quiet they were barely more than a hiss of air spilling over his lips.

It was freaky.

“What’s he saying?” he asked Jeff.

Jeff shrugged, but he looked troubled. “Damned if I know.” He worked quickly to get the socks off JT’s feet, revealing angry red skin underneath and dyeing the water pink. JT squirmed and whined, and he didn’t even stop whispering when Jeff threw the balled up ruined fabric into the tub and lowered his feet back into the water.

Jeff pressed a hand to the still-moving lips. “Stop that for a second, okay?” he said. “This is bees wax. It’ll help.” He swiped a finger full out of the container and rubbed it over the boy’s lower lip, laughing when JT tried to pull away. “I know, it stinks, but at least it’ll stop your little chatterbox from cracking open again.”

He set the ointment down and wiped his fingers on a ball of fabric that looked like it’d been the kid’s old shirt, and then sighed. “You could probably wash this rag fifty times and it’d still smell,” he sighed. “Do you think you could find me some of your sister’s old shirts?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jensen jumped to his feet. “We might have given away most of them, actually, but I’m sure I can find some somewhere. Or maybe he can wear one of mine? They’re pretty good quality, still. I’ll just go get some of mine.”

Jeff caught his arm before he could rush out the door. “Mackenzie’s things, Jensen.”

Jensen looked away. Of course Jeff wanted Mackenzie’s things. She probably took better care of her stuff than Jensen did, anyway.

“Hey, Jensen,” Jeff said. “Jensen, look at me.”

He obeyed, slowly, a bit startled to find Jeff smiling at him. “Mackenzie’s old shirts are smaller, alright, and she doesn’t need them anymore. I’m not gonna take one of your only three shirts.”

“I don’t need them all, not really,” Jensen said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Jeff smiled. “But I would. And I’m sure JT would be horribly upset as well.”

Jensen looked at the kid dubiously. He didn’t look like he’d mind anything, not really. “Right,” he said.

Jeff reached up and squeezed Jensen’s knee. “But hey, you know what’d be really helpful? If you could go find some of her shirts for me. Maybe some pants.” He winked. “Nothing pink or sparkly, okay?”

Jensen snorted. Like he was really gonna put JT through that. “I have to ask my mom, first,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Jeff said.

JT took a shuddering breath, and Jeff pressed a kiss into his hair. “Please stop crying, kiddo,” he whispered. “Please? For me?”

Feeling useless, Jensen looked down at his hands. They were smooth and callous-free, but plenty big. He was sure he could be helpful if people would only let him. “I’ll go get the shirts,” he said.

Jeff glanced up at him. “Thanks,” he said. He smiled. “You’re a great guy, Jensen, alright?”

Jensen stood up a little straighter. He was a great guy. Not a great kid. A great guy. “I’ll just be a minute,” he promised.

Jeff shot him an absent smile. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

“Are you gonna keep him then?” he asked.

“Nah,” Jeff said. He ruffled JT’s hair. “What am I supposed to do with a kid? I’ll just get him cleaned up, get some more food into his belly, and then he’ll go.”

* * *

But JT didn’t go. When Jensen came into the kitchen the next morning, he was still there, watching Jeff explain the wonders of canned peaches. Mid-afternoon found the both of them on Jeff’s cot, inspecting the beach pebbles Jeff kept in a hole in his mattress. Jeff took the boy out at nightfall, but come morning, they were in trouble with Jensen’s mom for blocking half the kitchen table with their game of Solitaire.

One by one, the inhabitants of the shelter wandered into the kitchen to inspect the curious child. Hettie stared at him over breakfast, Marek eyed him when he came in for coffee, Jessica Johnson nearly burnt lunch trying to keep an eye on him. JT didn’t seem to notice or mind, but Jensen did. He was almost their Mrs. Rochester, that thing that nobody ever mentioned even though it was on everybody’s mind.

Jeff noticed, too. He didn’t seem very happy about it, but there wasn’t anything to be done about, and Jeff had never been the kind of guy to complain when it wouldn’t help. He kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Jensen had just gotten to Macbeth stabbing Polonius when his stomach growled so loudly he thought it might wake Matilda passed out three beds down. He’d skipped breakfast in favor of reading, after his mother had pulled the book out of his resisting grasp at bedtime, and his body had apparently tired of waiting. At least most everybody else was up, the large room stuffed to the brim with beds almost empty, and Matilda only rolled over with a grumpy sound.

Jensen climbed to his feet. He shoved the book under his pillow, where he’d get to it easily once Jeff came back from wherever he went, his foraging trips or whatever that Jensen was still considered too young to go on. Jeff wasn’t much of a literature guy, but he still showed a healthy appreciation for gruesome deaths, and would put up with most of Jensen’s more literary ramblings as long as he made sure to talk about the murder and intrigue and – and sex in between.

He covered his yawn with one hand and went wandering out of the sleeping commons. Lorena was on door duty, working on the same crossword she’d been going over all week, ever since Miller had found a stack of yellowed newspapers while out scavenging. She gave him a brief glance and half-hearted smile when she heard him coming, but it didn’t stop her from looking bored to tears.

“Have you seen my mom?” Jensen asked. He ran one hand over his tired eyes.

Lorena shrugged. “Kitchen, I guess?”

Jensen nodded his thanks and stumbled down the corridor. He already had his hand out to push the half-open door open all the way when the concerned voices inside made him pause.

“It’s bullshit, is what it is,” Freeman was saying. “Give me that paper, and I’ll guarantee it’ll smell worse than the latrine.”

“No, that’s all you,” came Marek’s angry reply. “They’re giving us a chance, don’t you see? A chance to finally get out of this rat hole.”

Through the open door, Jensen could see him kick at the wall, and drew back with a startled breath.

“Guys,” Jensen’s mom interrupted them. “All the note says is that they want to help us, not harm us. They’re saying that to clear out the shelters and the slums, they’re going to offer everyone a chance to become a lawful member of society. They’re saying everybody who isn’t a registered citizen gets to apply once, and live in a ‘well-managed and well-maintained care facility’ in the meantime.”

Chrissie shook her head vehemently. “Detainment camps is what they are. They’ll turn down our applications and take us to work camps or deport us.”

“We might not have a choice,” Jensen’s mom pointed out. “They’re gonna increase raids after, and everyone they find goes straight to work camps and factories or back to where they came from.”

“If it’s gonna happen anyway, why make it easier for them?” Freeman laughed, but it sounded bitter. “I’m too dark. They’re never gonna accept me as a citizen.”

“You don’t know that,” Marek said. “You’re from here, you’re just like us. Surely they’ll see that.”

Jensen’s mom sighed heavily. She was outside of Jensen’s range of view, but he could catch a glimpse of her hand as she waved it tiredly. “This might be the last chance we have before they come for us,” she said. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go.”

“I won’t,” Freeman said. “I can do without getting shipped to Africa.”

Donna sighed again, so deeply it almost seemed to hurt. “I understand what you’re saying, Freeman, I do, but I can’t just make ideological decisions like that and screw the consequences. I’ve got my kids to worry about – I’ve got Jensen.”

On the other side of the door, Jensen felt like he’d just been dunked in icy water. He’d been raised in the shelter – he didn’t know if he’d been born here, but he’d grown up helping everywhere he could, pulling his – inconsequential – weight, doing whatever he could to keep things going. Sure, he was barely a teenager, but he hadn’t ever thought he was a burden to his mother. Someone she had to give up her ideals to protect.

He clenched his hands so tightly together his dirty nails dug crescents into his palms, and almost missed it when Freeman spoke again.

His voice was a lot gentler when he said, “Maybe you should.” He sighed. “They like people like you. White, non-descript last name. Family fallen on hard times, no longer struggling to survive now that they can rely on the government’s help. You’re good publicity.”

“Yeah,” Chrissie added. “You and Mackenzie and Jensen, you’ll be fine. We know you have more than just your own skin to worry about. So maybe you _should_ just give in, go East.”

“Yeah.” His mom sighed. “Maybe we should.”

* * *

_The Iliad_ was one of Jensen’s all-time favorite books. He’d picked it up when Shakespeare hadn’t been able to cut through his anger, because there were few things, in his experience, that Homer couldn’t fix. He knew Hector’s goodbye speech by heart. _No—if I e'er return, return I must / Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust: / Or if I perish, let her see me fall / In field at least, and fighting for her wall_ \- that bit always sent shivers down his spine. The fight scenes were a bit gross, but at least they were realistic. He knew entire pages by heart, and yet he couldn’t remember a single word, even though he’d been staring at the pages for what seemed like ages.

He didn’t think he’d ever been so mad.

He tried not to act his age, as a general rule. He was keenly aware that, besides JT, he was the youngest person at the shelter. The one closest to him in age was Mackenzie, who was seventeen and considered herself an _adult_ and above Jensen and his childish ways. Jensen was the fighter holding down the lone fort of teenage rebellion, and every time he so much as rolled his eyes he was caught in the crossfire of chiding and derision, told to grow up and not be such a brat all the time. So he tried. He did his chores without complaints and he did as he was told and he tried not to get mad when people told him to act like a grown-up but treated him like a child, but sometimes he wanted to scream with the unfairness of his all.

Not today, though; he wasn’t going to give in today. Instead he gripped his book until his knuckles turned white and thought calming thoughts and he was still so mad he could spit when his mother came to find him.

“Jensen, come to dinner, please.”

Jensen, dragging his feet, took his book with him. The rickety table in the kitchen was set for three, Jensen, Mackenzie and his mother, and Jensen flopped down on the bench next to his sister and propped his book against the table’s edge despite his mother’s disapproving look. He was willing to bet no one made Hector eat dinner with his mom and sister. Okay, so family wise maybe he would be Paris and Josh would be Hector, and Josh certainly seemed to believe they ought to worship him as their savior, but Josh didn’t have the superior strength and skill of a warrior, he just had a superior ego.

And Jensen didn’t really like girls all that much, so…

His mother’s exasperated sigh cut through his maudlin thoughts. “Jensen, please put your book down.”

Jensen scrunched up his nose in distaste, but he did it. Because he wasn’t a child anymore. He was a grown-up, and no one had to go back East for him.

An uneasy silence settled. Miller scuttled in and out of the kitchen but didn’t speak. Jensen’s mother served up their dinner, a stew of canned vegetables and meat, scraping the bottom of the pot for her own helping. Jensen grunted his acknowledgement as he picked up his spoon. Mackenzie didn’t say anything.

He felt his mother’s eyes on him, on them, for a while before she finally cleared her throat. “It’s nice to all be here together, even if Josh isn’t here. Isn’t it?”

Mackenzie offered up a wan smile before she turned back to her food, fork scraping over the worn porcelain.

Jensen kept his head down so he wouldn’t say something he’d be made to regret, later, but apparently his mother was really out to get him tonight.

“Jensen? Don’t you think?”

“Since when do you care what I think?” Jensen bit out before he could stop himself.

“Jensen!” She sounded aghast, and certainly looked it when he glanced up. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into _you_ , more like,” Jensen snapped back. “You’re the one who wants to leave here. Do you think we’ll be having cozy little family dinners in the camps back east?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t listen in on my private conversations, Jensen,” his mother said stiffly.

Jensen laughed at that; he couldn’t help it. “Well, _I’d_ appreciate it if you didn’t ruin my life without asking me, but it looks like we can’t always get what we want.”

“Jensen, do not take that tone with me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother. I’ll be sure to be especially polite when the camp guards are kicking my skull in.”

“You’re being ridiculous, stop-“

“Oh, I know, how about: “Excuse me, sir, I believe you missed a spot. There’s not quite enough brain matter spattered on the pavement-‘“

“Damn it, Jensen, that’s enough!”

Jensen jumped a little, he always did when his mom got loud, but he was too angry to back down this time. Instead he glared at her with his jaw jutting forward, watching a vein throb at her temple.

Finally she threw her fork down and sighed, still angry. “Go wait on the stairs.”

Jensen pushed his chair back with a screech. He took his book and glared at his mother for a second before he stalked away.

No doubt people had heard – no such thing as privacy in the shelter – but no one gave him any grief about it, at least. No one would even meet his eyes, and he climbed halfway up the staircase and sat with a disgruntled thump.

He could still hear the scrape of cutlery from the kitchen, dragging on for what seemed like forever. Low voices. Water splashing, so they had finished eating and moved on to cleaning up, and Jensen still sat on the stairs with his stomach growling and his mood sinking steadily, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and huffed.

Screw his mother, anyway. He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty at making her feel bad, but it just wasn’t _fair_. No one would make Josh go east if he didn’t want to. No one would _take_ Josh east. Just because everybody thought Jensen was still a kid, they expected him to say, ‘Yes ma’am, yes sir,’ and go along with everything. It was his life, damn it. He didn’t want to spend it in some work camp just because his mother thought they might get citizen cards. He didn’t even want to _be_ a citizen. He liked the shelter and its people, he even liked what was left of LA. But of course, when he said his piece, he got sent to sit on the stairs like a naughty toddler.

He turned at the sound of footsteps, but it was just Mackenzie, coming halfway up the stairs where she stopped and folded her arms. She didn’t smile at him. She never did when he argued with their mom. She thought he shouldn’t make Mom’s life more complicated than it already was, that he was just being difficult.

“Mom says you can go to bed now.”

What, so she wasn’t even going to come talk to him? Fucking typical. Jensen stood with a huff, but she didn’t get out of his way.

“Mom has enough on her mind without you acting like a baby,” she hissed at him.

Oh, so he was a baby now, was he? “Go fuck yourself,” he whispered back, and when she wrapped her fingers around his wrist he pulled away from her. Maybe she was older but he was bigger, now, and apparently also stronger.

He didn’t hesitate to stomp down the stairs, either. They all apparently thought he was two, so he might as well fucking act like it.

* * *

Jensen had been lying in the dark, deserted main hall for what felt like hours when she finally came. It was still early and no one else was even in bed yet, besides Callie Joran who’d drunk herself into a snoring stupor and Old Pat who barely ever got out of bed in the first place, and Jensen now felt stupid on top of being mad.

His mother’s gentle touch to his shoulder didn’t really help. “Hey baby,” she said. “Sorry it took so long for me to come.”

Jensen smiled bitterly. Probably someone had guilt-tripped her into coming to see him anyway. He could hear voices somewhere in the building, laughing and boisterous, and glared at the wall in front of him with renewed vigor.

She sighed, heartfelt, and the caress turned into a light shake. “Jensen, please just look at me, alright?”

He didn’t particularly want to but she sounded pretty upset, and as angry as he was, he didn’t actually doubt she thought she was doing the right thing. He rolled over slowly, trying hard not to glare, and bit off another angry comment. “What?" he asked. It only sounded a little bit mad.

His mother smiled ruefully. “Look, baby, I understand that you’re angry, okay? I would be too, in your position.”

“Then why are you saying all this crap about going east?” Jensen asked before he could stop himself.

She sighed. “It’s not that easy, Jensen, okay? There are many factors to consider.”

“You’re not considering my opinion,” Jensen reminded her none too gently.

She sighed again, deep and tired. “I won’t make a decision until Josh gets here, okay? We’ll ask what he thinks.”

Jensen felt his lips curl up in response. “Why does Josh get to decide my life? He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Don’t be silly,” his mother told him, brushing the hair back from his eyes. “He’s your brother.”

Jensen didn’t bother telling her that he certainly didn’t feel like he knew Josh at all, aside from knowing that he was a bighead who thought he was God’s gift to what was left of humanity. It wouldn’t have done any good.

Instead he dredged up a smile and let her kiss his forehead and muss his hair. He still wanted to punch her teeth in for even considering the East and the camps, but his anger had simmered down to a quiet sizzle. He could keep from telling her how insane she clearly was, even if he was still thinking it.

* * *

Jensen hesitated in the kitchen’s doorway when he saw that Jeff was already there, the kid and a small pot arranged at the scarred table. It was mid-morning, when most people had other things to do. It didn’t surprise Jensen much – Jeff had been staying away from the others more than usual since he’d brought JT home with him.

He scraped a spoon through the mush in the pot and lifted it, one hand underneath to catch any spills. “Okay, JT,” he said. “These are peas. Open wide.” He mimed opening his mouth, which JT copied obediently.

With Jeff’s contortions and a minimum of cooperation from JT, they managed to get the spoonful into the kid’s mouth. Jeff sat back and raised expectant eyebrows. “What’s the verdict, kid?” he asked.

JT sat for a moment, cheeks bulging. Then his eyes went wide and he spat the whole load onto the table, sputtering and cringing and making general noises of disgust as he scraped his tongue clean on the back of his arm.

Jeff shot Jensen a look. His chuckle was infectious, and Jensen found himself laughing as well. “I guess we can cross peas off the list.”

He ate a spoonful of peas himself, humming thoughtfully, and then drummed the utensil against the tabletop. “Wasn’t a fan of string beans either. Maybe he just doesn’t like green things.”

Jensen was slow to come over and sit, next to JT, but Jeff didn’t seem to mind. “I think we have some black beans left,” he offered. “And kidney.”

“Worth a shot,” Jeff said. He turned to the kid, leaned his folded arms onto the table and said, “Legumes, kid? What’re your thoughts?”

“There’s spam, too,” Jensen said, grinning at the thought of JT frowning at a spoonful of precooked meat. He was so caught up in possible meals that he didn’t even notice Simon came in, and ended up startling horribly when the man banged a bunch of pots together in the sink. He wasn’t the only one, either – JT flinched, and Jeff would never let anybody startle him, but he still narrowed his eyes.

“Waste of fucking food, is what it is,” Simon muttered.

“Excuse me?” Jeff said, voice sharp.

“Oh, you heard me,” Simon shot back. “You’re wasting our meager rations on a brain-dead nuisance, and you know it. Your overprotective daddy act isn’t hiding your disregard for our survival, just so you’re aware.”

Jeff stood, bench scraping across the floor. His voice was getting louder, but compared to Simon’s quiet contempt, it just seemed helpless. “What drugs are you on, man? I do _nothing but_ work for our survival, and I’m not endangering us, or some such rot. I haven’t even asked for all my rations. I never have!”

He leaned forward, apparently unaware that JT had started leaning away from him, and as subtly as he was able, Jensen tugged on the boy’s sleeve to move him out of the combat zone. JT came quietly. He kept his eyes averted, nearly crossed, and he didn’t make a sound.

Simon held his hands out, mocking in its calming gesture. “We can’t rely on past good deeds to feed us in the future, Jeff. You should really know that. Maybe you’ve been useful in the past, but the shelter’s goodwill will dry up quickly if you keep on depleting our stocks like this.”

“Depleting our – are you mad, man? I’m not taking potshots at our food, I’m feeding a child.” When Simon raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, Jeff snarled, “A child that would die otherwise.”

The other man pulled a face. “Would he, now.” He gestured at JT, at his clean clothes and freshly washed hair. “Seems to me he did just fine on his own.”

Jeff pulled the wide-eyed JT against his side, glaring at the other man even though his hands on the boy were sure and steady. “Oh yeah, lice and bloody feet, that’s doing just fine, is it?”

“He’s not dead, is he?” Simon shot back.

“And he’s not _going_ to die,” Jeff snarled. “No matter how much you want him to.” He tightened his grip on JT’s wrist and pulled him towards the door. JT stumbled for a moment before he caught himself, and Jensen bit back a noise of protest.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Jeff,” Simon called after him. “I’d never begrudge you your little lab rat, you know that. After all, we all need to get our kicks from somewhere.”

But Jeff was already gone.

* * *

After that, it was like a thundercloud of Goliathan proportions had gathered over the shelter. Jeff either trampled around the neighborhood with JT, or he sat on his cot and glared at everyone. Simon and his supporters used every opportunity to badmouth the pair of them. And Jensen’s mom sat around with a placating smile, telling anyone who’d listen that they’d work it out – like there was any solution that wouldn’t leave somebody unhappy.

Jensen, for his part, tried to stick with Jeff and JT whenever possible. Part of it was sheer desperation, he supposed – at least that way, Jeff would never be able to forget about him. One of his biggest fears, and there were a lot of them, was that Jeff would one day decide enough was enough and walk away, and if Jensen was going to fight tooth and nail to stop him, he couldn’t be off at the other end of the city when it happened.

It never happened, though. Nothing happened, except for the lines around Jensen’s mother’s face growing more and more pronounced, until one day he stumbled down the stairs after falling asleep on the roof, face itchy with too much sun, to find the entire shelter on its feet and chattering. For a moment, he was ready to panic, before he realized that it was excited chatter, that everyone running around like headless chickens was actually _happy_.

He caught his mother’s sleeve when she rushed past. “What’s going on, Mom?”

His mother pulled him into a quick hug, but she didn’t even look at him when she said, “Your brother is coming.” She hurried off into the kitchen, probably to break out the good stuff, but Jensen didn’t follow her.

Josh was coming.

“Great,” he muttered. “Can’t fucking wait.”

* * *

The thing about Josh was, he thought he was Hector of Troy, Dorian Gray, and Richard the Lionheart combined. He thought he was God’s gift to the post-War people. Like they couldn’t do without him just because he managed to avoid some patrols. Jeff had been successfully dodging soldiers and neighborhood thugs for decades, and nobody cooked _him_ a nice meal when he came home. Jensen wouldn’t have been surprised if Josh got a Citizen card from somewhere and then expected to be worshipped because he didn’t _have_ to sneak around checkpoints anymore.

Jensen couldn’t really remember what Josh had been like before he became a runner, supplying their network of shelters with news, food, and first aid necessities. His mom said Josh used to watch him all the time. That he carried Jensen around and made sure he ate all his food and wore his hat when they went outside. It gave Jensen a funny feeling inside, some odd mixture of gratitude and tenderness, whenever he heard about it, but it didn’t change the fact that Josh was nothing like that _now_. Now he strutted about and gave orders and constantly told Jensen to get out from underfoot, and while Jensen didn’t wish him ill or anything, he was usually happier when Josh wasn’t around.

Apparently he was the only one when it came to that; when the news of Josh’s impending arrival had spread, it was like everybody has collective gone crazy. Jensen expected his mother to act like Josh’s return was the best thing since they’d found that entire basement full of barely expired cans. She always did. His sister, too, and he could understand that even if he didn’t really _get_ it – Josh was only four years older than she was, after all, and she had memories of him beyond occasionally being told to shove off.

But everybody else? Harrietta made a _garland_. Freeman cooked. Lenn Brickmann and his wife would not shut up about the time Josh stopped them from walking right into a patrol and in the end it was only their cocker spaniel that got shot. Everywhere Jensen turned, Josh was being hailed like Caesar upon his glorious return to Rome. It was ridiculous.

True, there were some people who weren’t all that impressed – Jeff, most notably, but since Simon had taken to loitering around Jeff and JT and making snide comments, and since Jensen had been expressively forbidden from ‘antagonizing’ Simon any further, even Jeff’s presence wasn’t the sanctuary it should have been.

He almost reconsidered when everyone, throwing subtlety to the wind, actually lined up at the entrance and _waited for Josh’s arrival_ , like he was one of the movie stars of old. Jeff wasn’t there, pleading JT’s dislike of crowds as an excuse to escape up onto the roof. Jensen’s feet twitched with the desire to follow, but then his mother turned from half a room away and pinned him with a sharp look and Jensen had to stay crouched on the stairs and wait for his brother to get there or else face her wrath forever.

Not that it was worth it. There was a knock, Alena who was ‘lucky’ enough to be on door duty opened, and everyone cheered – albeit quietly, because they were still a shelter – when Josh stood in the doorway.

Jensen wrapped his hands around the bannister, watching silently as Josh slapped backs and shook hands, exchanged greetings and hugs. He kissed Jensen’s mother on the cheek, his sister on the forehead, and let himself be ushered off to the kitchen for food and a drink.

He didn’t look at Jensen even once.

* * *

Apparently, Josh returning was a big enough deal that Elizabetta, who co-ran the shelter on Manhattan, came by to hear what he had to say. Of course Jensen would have _also_ liked to hear what he had to say, and to maybe hear what his brother thought of the governmental amnesty and the camps back East, but instead he found himself faced with Elizabetta’s nine-year-old, Marlies, and his mother’s pleading face.

“Entertain her for a while, baby, will you? JT’s not someone I want to unleash on her, and you’re closest in age.”

And then she walked into the conference room where Elizabetta and Josh and Freeman and a whole slew of other people already sat waiting, and closed the door.

* * *

Jensen was vaguely aware his mouth had dropped open, but he didn’t really care. He was _fuming_. He wanted nothing more than to storm in there and throw a massive fit, but he already knew there was nothing good to be gleaned from that.

So he sighed. He clenched his jaw, unfurled his hands, and forced a smile when he turned to face the girl. “How would you like to be entertained, then?”

He actually knew her a little, as well as he could know someone who was almost six years younger than he was and whom he only saw twice a year at most, so he wasn’t entirely surprised when she chewed on her lip for a moment and then announced, “I like the clapping game.”

Jensen nodded. He found them a nice bit of wooden floor to stand on, not too far from the conference room, and raised his hands to mirror hers. It’d been a while since he’d last played this game, but the words were unforgotten, hands and feet finding their rhythm easily as they chanted.

_Hush my darling, make no sound,_ _The Patrol is homeward bound._ _There’s the stomping of their feet,_ _Every step in beat-beat-beat._ _There the watch goes to and fro._ _Hush my dear, and stay down low._ _There’s that crackle in the air._ _The Wave is coming, better beware!_

They went through it again, and again, faster and faster until Jensen finally messed up the stomp and Marlies abandoned the game to break into peals of laughter.

“Again,” she demanded, and Jensen couldn’t help but grin at that.

He held out his hands obligingly, still trying to catch his breath, and that was when the door opened and Josh fixed them with a look.

“Quieter, please,” he said, with just a hint of disdain.

Jensen flushed an angry red. _Of course_ Josh would only actually take notice of him when he was playing games fit for a five-year-old, and a girl at that. He opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t even know what, but it didn’t even matter in the end because Josh closed the door again without waiting for a reply.

“Again?” Marlies asked, hushed, but Jensen shook his head, his good mood all but gone.

Instead he sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Come on, let’s check the kitchen for anything good to eat.”

* * *

Elizabetta eventually reemerged and collected her child, giving Jensen a small smile in thanks. Jensen turned to his mother, eager to hear the news, _any_ kind of news, but all he got was a smile and the door shut in his face.

* * *

Jensen had just found a comfortably spot to read, half tucked behind the narrow staircase leading up to the roof where hardly anybody ever went and he could reread _Metamorphoses_ for the fourth time with anybody coming to bother him when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He groaned – quietly, tensing up in anticipation of being assigned some meaningless chore, but instead it was Jeff, one hand on his toolbox and the other on JT, who shuffled after him with his arms full of wood.

Jeff grinned when he saw him. “Hey, Jens,” he said. “Sorry about invading your sanctuary and all, but you need to shoo for a minute.”

When Jensen looked at him over the top of his book, Jeff motioned at the stairs he was sitting underneath. “Some of the steps are bust, apparently, and we need to get them fixed before somebody breaks their neck.” He rolled his eyes like he really wouldn’t mind that possibility all that much. “Wouldn’t be so bad if everybody could just lay off the bacon for a while,” he muttered, which was just one of those things he said sometimes that meant absolutely nothing to Jensen. He’d figured out early on that it was best not to ask, though, so he crawled out of his hiding space and leaned against the wall across the corridor to watch Jeff work.

The man inspected the stairs for a moment, picked a board out of the pile in JT’s arms and fitted it over a step. “Here, you can hand me these,” he said to Jensen, picked out a plastic packet of nails and handed it to him.

Jensen fumbled the package open and held one out, and Jeff secured one end of the board to the step underneath it, wielding his hammer with loud, staccato beats.

JT made a little noise.

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry,” Jeff said. He motioned for JT to drop his load, which the boy did, all over his feet, face scrunched up in pain but without a single sound.

Jeff sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what you’d be like if the Wave hadn’t scrambled your brain,” he told the boy.

“Josh says the Wave could have been avoided if the government kept better tabs on its scientists,” Jensen said.

“Josh is full of shit,” Jeff growled. And yeah, Jensen knew that, but it was nice to hear it from someone else.

The man guided one of JT’s hands to rest on the board he was working on. “Here, hang onto that,” he said, gently. Then he turned back to Jensen and scowled.

“Yeah, there wouldn’t have been the Wave if someone had said, ‘Hey, wait a minute, maybe genetically altering our kids to turn them into supersoldiers isn’t such a hot idea.’ And maybe there wouldn’t have been the Wave if there hadn’t been the War, and maybe the whole thing could have been avoided if everyone had learned from the _last two_ world wars and thought, ‘Maybe we should just pull our heads out of our asses and talk this out.’”

JT cringed when Jeff’s voice hit a whole new level of loud, and Jeff reached over to ruffle his hair. Quieter, he said, “But they didn’t. The War happened and killed millions of people, the Wave happened and fried our children’s brains, and a wet-behind-the-ears kid like Josh can talk all he wants, he’s never gonna make shit right.”

Jensen bit his lip. Not that it wasn’t great to hear that not _everybody_ loved Josh like he was the Second Coming, but Jeff mad wasn’t really something he’d wanted, either. Jeff seemed to get that, though, because after a quick look at Jensen’s face, he forced a smile.

“Anyway, I know he’s your big brother and all, but from where I’m standing, he’s barely out of diapers himself. He talks so tough all the time, but trust me: When the Wave and all that happened, he was too little and too confused to get what was going on in the first place, so you’ve got just as much right to an opinion as he does.”

Jensen ducked his head to hide his smile. He blinked when Jeff held out an imperious hand, before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing in the first place and pressed a nail into it. The man hammered it in with a couple of quick, loud smacks with his hammer before he shook his head. “What a tool.”

“It’s true I don’t know anything about what happened, though,” Jensen put in, some kind of weird latent sibling protectiveness clawing at the back of his mind. Yes, Josh was a dick most days, but that didn’t necessarily mean, however much it sucked, that he was _wrong_. He licked his lips. “I mean, at least he remembers the whole thing. For me, it was always this way.”

Jeff gave him a considering look. “You must have barely missed the Wave,” he said thoughtfully.

“Four months,” Jensen said. He sat up a little straighter. “I was four months old when it hit.”

“You poor bastard,” Jeff muttered, but Jensen had no idea what he might mean – because with Jeff, it wasn’t always that easy to tell – so he just smiled awkwardly and held out another nail.

* * *

Jensen was headed to the kitchen for a snack, was just passing by the conference room when he noticed the door standing open. A step closer revealed Josh inside, with Freeman and Kyra Jonis and the Packer twins, bent over maps so large they barely fit the table.

Josh tapped his index finger onto the paper. “This right here is the USMC base,” he said. “We’ll send someone in to scope it out, of course, but we should ready ourselves just in case. This could be huge for us.”

Jensen wasn’t sure what gave him away, the movement or perhaps some noise, but whatever it was that alerted his brother, Josh looked up and caught him staring. There wasn’t much Jensen could do to disguise his eavesdropping, and he really didn’t _want_ to. He could help. He _wanted_ to help, and they always needed people, so why was everyone so against him getting involved?

So instead of darting away, he drew his shoulders back and evenly met Josh’s eyes. Josh stared back at him, one beat, two, and then turned to the woman next to him.

“Close the door, Kyra, would you?”

With a grimace aimed at Jensen, Kyra went to obey.

Jensen held his hand out, arresting the door’s movement. “I can help,” he said. “I know things. I can help.”

Josh raised his eyebrows. “Do you even know what USMC stands for?”

“United States Marine Corps,” Jensen said evenly. Jeff had told him, once. He’d said he remembered it from a headline when he was a little boy, that Australia had sunk three of their ships, killed thousands.

He gave Josh an expectant look, but his brother just rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Jensen,” he said. “Get out of here.”

Jensen made a point to close the door as quietly as possible, to show how much of a baby he wasn’t. But Josh was already bent over his maps again, huddled together with his little secret society, like Jensen was barely even a blip on his radar.

Jensen took a deep breath. Screw Josh, anyway. Jensen didn’t need him. He had other friends. Friends that actually wanted to spend time with him.

He found Jeff on the roof, JT plastered to his side as usual. It was an overcast day, heat gathering low to the ground, but there was a breeze up here. It tugged at Jeff’s shirt and mussed up JT’s hair.

“Hi Jensen,” Jeff said.

Jensen sat down next to him, Indian-style, and got a quick smile in return. At least here, people didn’t think he was a complete idiot. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Jeff grinned at him. “We’re having fun,” he said. “Watch.”

He showed Jensen a handful of almonds, like a magician from the stories he’d told Jensen about, slipped one between his thumb and forefinger and tossed it into the air, catching it neatly with his mouth. Then he offered one to JT, who picked it up gingerly.

“Go on,” Jeff said.

JT obediently copied the movement, tossed the almond into the air and opened his mouth, but instead, the nut thwacked him solidly in the forehead. He lifted his head and gave Jeff a puzzled look, even more so when Jeff laughed.

“That’ll happen,” Jeff said. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the red spot on JT’s forehead and smiled. “You’re okay,” he said. “Wanna go again?”

JT tilted his head into Jeff’s hand, rubbed it against his palm, keened softly. When Jeff offered him another almond in the palm of his hand, he reached for it slowly but without hesitation. Jensen kind of had to admire his determination. That looked to be a pretty impressive bruise coming on his forehead, but he didn’t even seem to care.

He didn’t do much better on his next try, either, bouncing the nut off his nose instead, and the side of his chin the time after that, but he made it on his fourth try. He didn’t grin in victory, not like Jeff and Jensen did, but his eyes flitted to Jeff anyway. When Jeff gave him an approving nod, he nodded once, seriously, in return, and burrowed deeper into Jeff’s armpit.

Jeff scratched through the kid’s hair, smiling. “You wanna give it a shot?”

It took Jensen a moment to realize that the question was directed at him. He shook his head. “That’s okay,” he said.

“Right.” Jeff shoved his remaining handful of nuts into his mouth. “What’s happened?”

Jensen sighed. He flopped down on the ground across from them, stretching his legs out as long as they would go, and slumped in on himself. Jeff didn’t stare at him or anything like that, and Jensen was grateful for that. Instead, Jeff turned back to inspecting JT’s forehead, parting the greasy hair, and it was a lot easier to talk to his shoulder, as it turned out.

“Mom says maybe we ought to just give in, to go back east.”

Jeff gave him a quick, sharp look before he turned his attention back to JT. “Then you’re gonna have to make that trek without us, buddy. The kid and I are staying put.”

“No,” Jensen said.

It earned him another look from Jeff, so he quickly shook his head.

“You could come with us,” he said. “You _should_. You should come with us. You’re not like the people they’ll deport. You’re useful, I mean, and you don’t look like you’re Asian or African or whatever, _and_ you’ve got JT. They _gotta_ let you stay.”

Jeff’s smile, when he shook his head, was wry. “You really think they’re gonna spend their bit of money on keeping a Wave kid alive?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Jensen asked. He was starting to sound kind of desperate, but he didn’t care. “I mean, he’s your family, isn’t he? They can’t just take him away.”

But they could. They could and they would, and Jensen knew that, knew it even without the dark, silent look Jeff gave him. If Jensen’s mother decreed that they would go, Jeff and JT would not be coming with them.

* * *

Callie Joran crashing through the bannister in a drunken haze was the most exciting thing that happened in the next couple of days. Josh was still preoccupied with his war council bullshit, too high and mighty to even open the door. His mother and Mackenzie ate it right up, it seemed, hanging on his every word and bringing him plates of food whenever he missed dinner.

If Jensen ever missed dinner, he’d be sent to bed without any food at all.

It made his blood boil just thinking about it, that Josh-the-jerk would have final say in Jensen’s future, so Callie’s accident was actually kind of a godsend. It gave him something to do, anyway, and when Callie was all patched up and sleeping it off, there was still the bannister to fix. That was Jeff’s job, mostly, but one morning a couple days later he kidnapped Jensen from his dishwashing duty and handed him his toolbox instead.

“If I have to do this shit, I may as well have pleasant company,” he’d said, and Jensen had gladly helped him haul the supplies up the stairs. JT sat in the hallway below them, cautiously stapling his fingers together, foot twitching every once in a while.

“Maybe that’s what I should be doing,” Jeff said, gesturing at the boy with a hammer. “If I just sat there all day, completely fascinated by my fingernails, nobody would bother telling me to fix the fucking banister.”

Jensen let go of his end of the wood so he could chew on a fingernail. “You don’t mean that,” he said.

“No?” Jeff didn’t even look up. “Trust me, m’boy, sometimes I wish I _were_ touched in the head. Sit in a corner all day and mumble to myself, and not give a fuck about all the bullshit intrigue people are planning behind my backs. Just sit. Be happy being a vegetable.”

Jensen glanced back down at JT, who’d moved on to pressing his fingernails into the skin underneath the rucked-up hem of his jeans so hard it was turning white in sports. The expression on his face was odd – halfway between vacant and fascinated.

Then Jensen’s brain caught up with his ears. “Who’s planning behind your back?” he asked. His mouth turned dry. “People here? At the shelter?”

Jeff underlined his scoff with a loud bang of his hammer against the worn wood. “They’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites is what they are, Jensen. The Shelters is supposed to be where we go when we need help. Where people have our backs. But God forbid we don’t dance to their fucking fiddle every minute of every day.”

Jensen looked down at the frayed fabric covering his knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Aw, that’s not your fault,” Jeff said. He sounded regretful, which he sometimes did when he’d gone on some sort of epic rant against Jensen’s family or someone and Jensen could only sit and listen with his face burning with shame. “You’re a good guy, Jensen, okay? Best we got. Don’t forget that.”

Jensen nodded. The words should have thrilled him, but there was a bitter aftertaste to them this time – because if he was the best, why did nobody listen to him? Why did everybody insist on treating him like an idiot if he was so great?

Jeff hammered in another nail in silence, and then he said, “I don’t want the kid to grow up around people who hate him. He can tell, you know,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “He’s all smiles when we leave here, but the closer we get back to the shelter, the slower he gets. He can’t stand it here. And in all honesty, neither can I.”

“So you’re just gonna leave?” Jensen asked, and from the surprised look on Jeff’s face, he must have sounded pretty bitter. “You’re just gonna pack up and ditch me?” He balled his hands into fists, couldn’t help it. “Whatever happened to people having your back?”

Jeff lifted placating hands. “We won’t ever just leave you, Jensen. Okay? I promise. We won’t just disappear.”

Somewhere, Jensen found a smile to offer. He handed Jeff another nail, but before either of them could say anything else, a long shadow fell over them.

“Hey Jeff.” Josh stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on the frame, hardly more than a dark silhouette. “Can you c’mere for a second? I can’t get this generator to work.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Fucking useless, is what he is,” he muttered into Jensen’s ear. “If he wasn’t so busy strutting around like a peacock trying to get laid, he’d be able to fix it no problem.”

Jensen bit back a laugh and nodded. He took Jeff’s tools from him, ignoring the strange look Josh shot him after Jeff had gone, and then he and JT were alone in the hallway. Jensen climbed down the stairs to sit across from him. JT had moved on to tracing the pattern on the soles of his shoes with a fingertip, stopping here and there to feel around a certain spot. It made Jensen wonder what kind of world the kid lived in – what kind of information was he getting from his dirty shoes that so much time and dedication ought to be spent on it?

He startled when Simon suddenly appeared in the hallway, marching towards them with determination. He sprang to his feet, but Simon was bigger and fast, pulling JT upright before Jensen could even open his mouth.

“Come on, you little creep.” He tightened his hand in JT’s hair. “Time to disappear.”

“Hey,” Jensen protested, getting into his way, but he know from the start that it was futile. He wasn’t big enough, or strong enough, and even his most determined shove could barely get Simon to flinch. The commotion brought a whole slew of people into the room, including Jensen's mother, but none of them were the right one. “Jeff!” he yelled. “Jeff!”

“Shut your mouth, mama’s boy,” Simon hissed at him. He yanked at JT’s hair again, tried to push past Jensen with his free hand.

JT howled in pain and clutched at the fingers digging into his scalp, fingernails clawing marks into the skin, feet scrabbling for purchase.

“Stop it,” Jensen said, wishing to God he was as big as Josh or Jeff, because no one would try to mess with him then, and then Jeff’s voice, loud and mean, halted all movement in the room.

“Let the fuck go right now,” he said.

Simon, wonder of wonders, did. Jensen expected JT to bolt back to Jeff without a moment’s hesitation, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood, frozen, in the middle of the room, eyes flitting from person to person without meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Look at him,” Simon said. Jensen expected him to laugh like some bad villain from those movies Jeff had told him about, but he didn’t. He just shook his head, almost sadly, before he turned to Jeff. “He’s useless. What good is he to us, Jeff? Be honest.”

Jeff just scowled, though. “So what. Old Pat’s got no legs, and I don’t see you dragging him out by the hair.”

“Old Pat’s smart, though,” Simon pointed out. “And he can still work with his hands. Your boy can’t even find you in a crowd of what, twenty?”

Jensen’s heart clenched at that, and he wanted nothing but to yell at Simon, shove him, beat him with his fists until he realized how awful he was being, but Jeff, apparently, was done with that line of conversation – all his attention was on the kid, now. He’d ducked his head and held up his hand, inviting and tempting all in one.

“Come on. Come here, JT,” Jeff said. He gestured the boy closer.

JT took a hesitant step in his direction and then stopped, looking around with jerky movements just like Jeff’s Christmas bunny.

Nina laughed meanly, and that just seemed to confuse him even more, but at least he took another step closer to Jeff, and another, and then he was close enough that Jeff could grab at him. He drew the boy against him, back to chest, and rested one arm across his torso. He whispered something in the boy’s ear and JT hitched a soft breath, but his shoulders didn’t lose any of their stiff tensions.

“So is this how it is?” Jeff asked, so quietly Jensen wasn’t even sure that he’d spoken at first. “You’re just gonna toss my boy out onto the street like last week’s garbage? In the middle of the fucking _day_?”

“He’ll make it,” Simon said. He sneered. “He’s a Wave kid, ain’t he? He knows when they’re coming?”

“He’s still a _kid_ ,” Jeff snarled at him. “He’s a kid and he’s touched in the head and it’s a wonder he even made it as long as he did, because God knows _none of them survive on their own_.”

JT whimpered, then¸ probably more at Jeff’s volume than anything he was saying, but it shut Jeff up nonetheless. He whispered something else in the boy’s ear, thumb stroking over the t-shirt covering his shoulder, and Simon was watching the whole scene with barely contained disgust and Josh had his holier-than-thou face on and Jensen’s mother was quietly resigned, and Jensen had had enough.

“Fuck this,” he muttered. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that the words were out, he suddenly knew what he was going to do. Knew it all so clearly as if God had sent down the pidgeons at Pentecost.

He strode the handful of steps over to Jeff and JT and stroked over JT’s hair, whispering his own “It’s alright,” into the kid’s ear. Then he straightened and looked Jeff straight in the eye. “Let’s go then,” he said. “Come on.”

Jeff tilted his head to the side, more curious than confused. Jensen willed him to understand and it seemed to work, even, because the hint of a smile found its way onto Jeff’s lips, and he ushered JT a tiny step forward.

“Right then,” he said. “Follow Jensen, come on.”

Jensen reached for JT’s hand, caught his wrist which worked just as well. He even made it a couple of steps towards the exit before the rest of the spectators rallied.

“Jensen, what are you doing?”

“Oh, shut up, Josh,” Jensen said. “I’m done with all of you.” He gave Simon a look. “Especially you.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Oh please, I only put into action what we were all thinking.”

More than a couple of people scoffed at that, but Jensen wasn’t feeling particularly lenient. They would have just stood by and watched, wouldn’t they, while Jeff and JT were booted out the door.

“We’re a shelter,” Jensen said. “We’re all people have. So if you’re gonna make our friend leave just because he’s helping a little kid, then I don’t want to be associated with you people anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Josh said. And that was rich, wasn’t it, considering Josh should know more about being ridiculous than any of the rest of them.

“And you,” Jensen said, turning on him. “Swaning around, deciding people’s fates like you’re Zeus or something. Going behind their backs. Conspiring with Simon to get JT thrown out - how low will you sink? Jeff and JT are our _friends_. What, you couldn’t even say it to their faces?”

“Listen, boy,” Josh said, taking a step forward, like he was fucking Dad.

Jensen almost laughed, at the posturing, at the arrogance, at the entire ridiculous situation, but then his anger caught up with him again, crashing over him like the ocean. “Oh, please,” he said. “Is intimidation the next step? Tricks and deception, and then bullying? Fuck that, I’d rather get shot by a patrol than spend another minute listening to you.”

“Jensen, no,” Josh said, looking stricken, but Jensen was done.

“Fuck it,” he said. He slid his emergency backpack out from under his cot and slipped it over his shoulder. He held the worn strap with one hand, the other he held out to JT. He met Jeff’s dark, unreadable eyes with a wry look. “Shall we go?”

“Jensen, you are _not_ leaving,” his mother said. She sounded more panicked than commanding.

Jensen laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Just watch me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she snapped. Her tone would have normally made him cringe, but not now. Not anymore.

Jensen just shook his head. “I’m not going to just watch while you make Jeff leave for being a good guy. And I’m not going to fucking go east, either.”

She opened her mouth, to he didn’t know what. Tell him off, make him go sit on the stairs, whatever. He raised his chin and met her eyes and whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips. Jensen almost smiled at the grudging respect slowly forming on her face, but this wasn’t a situation to be taken lightly.

It was Simon who finally broke the silence. “Are we really going to listen to this brat?” he asked.

Which was a big mistake. Jensen knew that even before his mother whirled on the man, snarling, “And you! Who do you think you are, judging who gets to stay in _my_ shelter? Both of you,” she shot at Josh. “When we resort to subterfuge and deceit to boot people out of their homes, we might as well go surrender to the patrols right now. Now Josh hasn’t been here and doesn’t know any better, but,” and she took a step closer to Simon and poked her finger into his chest, “you, you know damn well I told Jeff he and the child could stay. And if I _ever_ catch you going behind my back again, you’ll find yourself out on the streets so fast it’ll make your head spin, is that understood?”

Simon nodded grudgingly. He collected his lackeys and went off to wherever. Jensen really wanted to make him stay and apologize, but there was gambling and then there was pushing his luck.

“All of you, go find something else to do,” his mother snapped, and she barely waited for the crowd to disperse before she threw her arms around Jensen’s neck.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again,” she whispered.

She was light and insubstantial in his arms, in a way she’d never been before, and her voice was thready with tears. Jensen hugged her back carefully. It was strange, knowing that she’d alienate half the shelter to make sure he didn’t leave. Pleasing, yes, but he wasn’t about to forget that she would have just stood by and watched if he hadn’t intervened.

“I’ll do it again if I have to,” he reminded her gently.

She muffled a sob in his shoulder, which was apparently a cue for a few more people to tactfully withdraw. Not everyone, though. Mackenzie shooed a couple of gawkers away, but Josh stayed where he was, eyeing the scene in front of him. Jensen hoped he felt responsible for the whole mess, because he should. He really hoped Josh felt like a spineless, backstabbing idiot.

He gave Josh a long look, and in the end it was his brother who caved first, turning away with the barest hint of blush to his cheeks.

He did win some Brownie points, though, when instead of soundlessly slinking away, he put his arm around their mother and said, “Come on, I’ll make us some tea. How’s that sound?”

He escorted her to the kitchen, and Jeff’s gruff “Show’s over,” got rid of the rest of the stragglers. Now that he was dismissed, Simon couldn’t flee fast enough. What a tool.

Jensen half expected JT to start crying, now that the tension was dissolving, but instead the kid remained utterly rigid, not even relaxing into the broad hands Jeff laid on his shoulders.

Jensen gave the kid a smile. He’d stopped expecting JT to return the gesture, but it did seem to ease him a little most of the time. Not now, though. He stayed utterly tense, not that Jensen could blame him. Instead he made a low noise, halfway between a sob and a wail except too quiet for either. His expression didn’t really seem to change, though, which just made the whole thing even more heartbreaking to watch.

“Oh, kid,” Jeff whispered. He kept his hands on JT’s shoulders but bent down low, pressing his forehead against the top of the boy’s head.

Jensen, figuring that was his cue to leave, took a step backwards, but he’d forgotten all about the creaky floorboards behind him and inadvertently alerted Jeff to his presence all over again.

Jeff pulled himself upright, squeezed JT’s shoulders one more time and then let go. “Thanks, Jensen,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Jensen told him, because it was. Even if the others had assumed he was bluffing and let him leave, it would have been fine. He’d still have left knowing he was making the right choice, the only choice, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
